Advising Indeed
by Ludella
Summary: Ja'far knows Sinbad is capable of doing things himself. Things like this, at least. An expert at them even. But sometimes, a bit of assistance comes in handy-even if Sinbad can't necessarily touch anything besides himself.


Things like this were always "important," by Sinbad's and therefore highest standards. They were put before all else as soon as the general stepped into his king's room, looking only to inform him of the day's schedule and help prepare him for public. Mornings like such came more often than Ja'far would find allowable (though he honestly didn't think any of it was acceptable behavior in the first place) and while he was just recently putting his foot down, like he had initially done in the beginning, the whines of a pitiful argument against his stingy rules and morals refused to cease.

Sinbad would always start off in bed when Ja'far greeted him, clothes no where to be seen and sitting straight up as if he were waiting which, Ja'far had come to learn, was exactly what he was doing. Perking up right as he entered the room, he'd move to one side of the bed with a hand patting the open space as a warm invitation that no longer needed to be spoken, after having gone through so many times already.

Rarely would Ja'far ever accept without bickering, and those times were usually after a situation where he could feel nothing for his king besides respect that lingered along the lines of very delicate pity.

But there was no time for any of that.

"Ja'far," Sinbad started again, breathing his name almost like a disappointed father, the irony of which only irking the freckled man further, "you know I can't help these things. I'm the one suffering here, don't you get it? Waking up to be met with this _issue_ and not knowing how to deal with it, and then my _favorite_ assistant meets me?"

He dare not make eye contact as he walked to the other side of the room. The same speech came every time, followed by a plea for company that he was inclined to once again pass up. It was typical Sin, waiting all morning for Ja'far to stop by in hopes of gaining assistance in giving his persistent morning wood a suiting farewell. Not taking his own feelings into consideration, brushing off all the time he put into scheduling the day, not a care as long as he could be touched and felt until his _own_ satisfaction was met, deeming Ja'far's secondary.

Yes, Ja'far hated these mornings, he settled, opening the large bureau kept for Sinbad's more common clothing, the rest shuffled away into a different room for occasion. "I have no desire nor time to play along with you this morning; there's work to do, and you're a capable grown man. Surely you can take care of it yourself."

"But what's the point in doing it by myself when you're here—" A sharp, critical glare replied that there would be none of that. The disgruntled man removed a pile of clothes from one of the drawers, moving closer to the bed only to set them down on the small bench before it. He was trying to leave the entire conversation off, Sinbad could easily tell, and took it upon himself to attempt another direction.

Ja'far turned to leave while brushing off the scent of Sinbad's clothing from his own. "I'll be leaving, my king. Breakfast should be served soon, in the second dining hall today."

"Won't you at least help me?"

He had anticipated a counter-argument, never having known Sin to be one to let things lose so quickly, _especially_ when it was at the cost of his own libido. Ja'far gave him a raised brow over his shoulder with half of a mind to leave without another word of it.

Even so, this was his king. "I just explained to you I wanted nothing to do with it. I have to work, too, if you weren't aware. And last time, Masrur seemed to be getting ideas from—"

Sinbad lifted a hand to stop him, shaking his head as an almost suspiciously sly smile appeared on his face. "I don't need to touch you; just let me _look_."

And it was the oddest position Ja'far had ever been in.

By far the most uncomfortable. Unsure of where to look, how to stand, or what expression to make, all while being watched. Never had he ever given any effort into anything but a sober, refined posture that should look proper next to the king, and to be put to this task was—well, not his strongest talent, so to say.

He knew his face was flushed. It'd been so ever since Sinbad ensured that he was serious in his request, knowing it would be in both of their best benefits to not turn him down. Not a fight to be put up, nothing to be held against for later, ability to play the "I did _that_ for you" trump card—all were rather handsome products to the general. If he thought about it long enough, Sinbad was almost doing him a great favor with these. But what price should that make?

"Pull it up a little higher."

Abiding by the plea, Ja'far lifted his robes further up.

His fingers picked at the hem in his hands, scratching at threads every time a breeze from the open window blew past his now exposed legs. He'd brought the cloth just above his groin, leaving the light material to occasionally brush almost painfully over sensitive skin.

Never before had Sinbad suggested something so lewd, challenging a good number of the ideas he brought to bed some nights (nights where he usually ended up sleeping alone with a red hand print across his face). The smallest fear lingered that with this, it was as if Sinbad was _evaluating_ him, almost, afraid he could see the slight trembling in his knees whenever he heard the elder draw in a breath or grunt or god forbid he _growl_ like that again.

This was for Sin, he thought, eyes clenched shut as he was unable to bring himself to watch the other _watch_ him. And this was the only time.

Part of him wished he'd never agreed to this. Shuffling his heels together, Ja'far clenched his eyes shut even tighter, despite it not helping him see any less already and in no way keeping him from hearing. The sheets shuffled incessantly, accompanying each throaty groan and grunt and hissed breaths and oh, heavens, why had he ever agreed to this?

Having his legs in the open like this was not the problem, nor was it necessarily having to listen to all of his king's sinful noises; it was the fact that _only_ his legs were exposed. More often than not, it was one way or the other, be it with his entire body save his face and hands all covered, or Sinbad personally taking all of it off. The most he ever removed without _everything_ being taken was his headpiece, which was usually by Sinbad as well.

No, only having his legs nude was the oddest feeling. There was an instinct that came with being near Sinbad and taking off clothing, and that was so it would all come off. Though Sin could be particularly torturous in how he handled Ja'far after he was fully laid out and without a thread, he strongly disapproved of making any game or tease of the removal of clothing. Neither were all too patient in bed, and the first, quickest release was simply from the confines of their robes, more an obstacle than anything.

Eventually Sinbad spoke again. "Any higher?" he asked rather bluntly. At least this time he seemed to recognize a hint of a boundary. Nearly opening his eyes to look at him and answer, Ja'far shook his head insistently and made something of a stomp-statement in reply to which, of course, Sinbad gave a sound between laughter and a moan.

"Aren't you almost done?" Ja'far hissed through gritted teeth, rolling his robes over his fingers and back. "It's been plenty enough time."

"You're expecting too much of me—I'm a man, Ja'far, and you-you of all people should know it doesn't come forced!"

Deciding it was necessary, Ja'far opened his eyes to send his king a hard glare. He managed to keep a stern expression, even when met with the sight before him, though perhaps the color on his face had just slightly deepened.

Sinbad lay in bed, blankets messily strewn about in the rush he'd been to sit up and make for a comfortable position. His legs were spread rather generously, which actually turned to be the most arousing part of the view (Ja'far feared whatever leg fetish Sinbad may have was beginning to rub off on him). Though there was nothing unattractive about the hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in so familiar patterns that, had his length not been as thick as it was, Ja'far could almost feel himself being touched also. The thought alone nearly made him hard as well, though it was quickly suppressed by an ache in his rear just by looking at how hard Sinbad himself was. A feeling he knew all far too (pleasantly) well.

He lowered his robes just an inch. This needed to be over with faster, he decided, finding that if he were to stand here too long then it may just end up affecting him also. It was just one thing he most definitely did not need right now, not in front of Sinbad, where he would no doubt be shoved onto the bed for just a hint of. Not to mention the time they'd already wasted that could've been put to use on work (Not that he either minded being shoved onto the bed in other situations).

"Ja'_faaar_!"

Ah, his head was beginning to hurt.

"You're not even listening anymore!"

The signature headache of Sinbad.

"_Ja'far_!"

That was it.

Ja'far finally dropped his robes back over his legs, turning his back to the bed with a sigh. There was no dealing with Sinbad rationally. Not when he really wanted something. Not when he really wanted Ja'far. Just about everyone in the palace was aware of this without question.

"Are you really leaving me to my own like this, after that? It's—"

"Eight seconds."

Without a reply, Ja'far knew he'd confused him. He once again picked up his robes, still turn away, and exposed all skin just below his hips.

"You've got eight seconds, starting now," he repeated, thankful Sinbad could not see the shade of red that had completely taken over his entire face and neck. There was no way he could look at him, either. Be it an expression of bewilderment, excitement, bliss—Ja'far hardly wanted to even think about what his king may be wearing.

"Don't you think eight seconds is a little—"

Ja'far bent over at his waist with his hands on his knees for support, ass now completely on display for Sinbad's viewing.

"Six."

Sinbad didn't say anything after. At least, not coherently. The noises came once again, now much louder and more desperate, almost. Ja'far swore he nearly breathed out his name, never truly able to tell as right after his breath would hitch before another deep groan that he cursed for going straight between his legs.

Of course he knew just how to play Sinbad. As much as the man prided himself in his extensive knowledge of all of Ja'far's pleasure points and the sort, the general himself was no less informed than him. And if there was one more thing Sinbad loved other than being able to touch his ass, it was _seeing_ it. He hated to indulge his perverted thoughts and fantasies, he really did. It never turned out well for him or aforementioned ass at all. But, it just so happened to be that Sinbad was exactly a predator, relishing in just the sight of his vulnerable prey. Despite Ja'far's persistence to keep him from having any of it this morning.

As much as Sinbad did enjoy it—oh he _enjoyed_ it enough—six seconds wasn't really all that much. Not for a view that was much better experienced than just seen, unable to touch. For a moment, Ja'far feared he'd been unsuccessful, that maybe he would end up having to lay himself down beneath him once again. It didn't seem that Sinbad would have any sort of climax if this couldn't do it right away.

Not until Ja'far straightened up, that is.

The king came with a low growl, for which Ja'far made sure to stay faced away for. He could still hear ragged breaths behind him, though for all he really cared right now, he'd done his job and this was simply over. "Thanks, Ja'far," Sinbad chuckled, "you should _really_ do this every morning."

When he finally did turn around to continue with sorting his room, Sinbad had already covered himself with the blankets once again. The general again picked up his clothes from the bench, almost tossing them on his lap. "Masrur will be waking you for the next week."

"That's too cruel!"

Ja'far only shook his head, spreading out the wrinkles that had folded over his own clothes. There was an incredibly minute chance of him ever agreeing to such a thing ever again—willingly, at least, as he wasn't too excited about it this morning alone either. It was the things he did for his king. All the shame and humiliation he was cost, all the dignity and pride he had already lost… He would do so much more if he could to repay him, of course, but of all things—

He turned away from the bed to leave, now much farther behind on beginning the day that would cost him sleep later. "Wait a minute, Ja'far," Sinbad quickly chided behind him, and before he could even react, an arm had snaked its way around his waist and pulled him right into the larger man's lap and—_was he already hard again?_ "You seem to have a bit of a problem there; mind if I help you out?"

Ah, who was he to think he had gotten away with anything this morning.


End file.
